


America's Son

by brokenEisenglas



Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Hydra Steve Rogers, Post-HYDRA Reveal, Warnings are for future chapters, Will update the tags as we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23368330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenEisenglas/pseuds/brokenEisenglas
Summary: Upon this iniquitous throne, he sits; rightful heir of our past transgressions. The second superhero civil war has left the Avengers in shambles. Tony Stark lay comatose, while elsewhere enemy powers grew stronger. Now, the villainous Captain Hydra, aka Golden Boy Steve Rogers, America's Son, stands sovereign, victorious over the "Land of the Free," or rather... Home of the Enslaved. If only Tony were here to see him now.
Kudos: 3





	America's Son

**Author's Note:**

> So, here begins this new journey. I have the fic mapped, and much of the story drafted. It's taken a while, but... It has begun.
> 
> A few things:  
> 1\. Thank you, to all those who have been cheering me on (Nicole, I'm talking about you in particular, love). This is a project that I have had mixed fears and delights with. Why?
> 
> 2\. ANGST. This isn't going to be a fun story. Not really. The tags will be updated as we go, BUT, forewarning: EXPLICIT Violence, Torture, Body Harm/Mutilation, Rape, Mind Fuckery, etc. to come.
> 
> 3\. This is NO one single universe.
> 
> I've taken elements from the MCU, 616, Ultimates, and alternate universes to create the story that's going on here. So, as it progresses, if there are any questions, feel free to ask! I'd be happy to explain things that are unclear (as long as if I don't have it planned as a reveal in a later section).
> 
> I really hope that this is to someone's liking; I know it's been to mine.
> 
> Currently, I don't have a planned posting schedule. Hoping for once every two weeks. But, with balancing the new school management and the lackthereof of work and having to do other means of making money, this will be an as-ready schedule.
> 
> STILL! Feel free to message! Want to talk about it? Comment below OR message my tumblr: brokeneisenglas

The fate of the world rests in his jean pocket, ones and zeroes.

The ground beneath his knees is _freezing_. Knelt down behind a burning dumpster, the heat at his back beckons much like the shouts of their pursuers. He’s both too hot and too cold. His body doesn’t feel like his own. He knows that they’re coming for him, for what he has, and he has to get it _and her_ to safety. She crouches right there beside him. Her breaths heave. The smell of rot and plastic nearly makes him choke, but he’s been in places far worse. Jada, on the other hand, struggles to keep quiet, suppressed coughs wracking her whole body. The pounding of a fleet of feet tap and echo below the low whoosh of the flaming trash. Hydra won’t hear them if they move, but if the smoke gets to them, gets to her…

“Jada,” he whispers. Her green eyes, watery and inflamed, jerk to meet his. He pulls the flash-drive from his pocket; its chrome finish glints like fire in the light of the flames. “Take this, Jada. Take it, and hold onto it. Okay?”

She nods her head, reaches out to grab it, but he doesn’t let her take it, not yet. She looks at him in confusion.

“Hold onto it,” his voice is grave. He means it. “Don’t let anyone know you have it. Not until you see _him_. Yes? You’ll know. Not a moment sooner. Take this to him.” She’ll know. She’s so intelligent, and they’ve been working so hard on this. He’s done his best to keep her a secret, to protect her. Someone must live to tell this story.

Someone has to tell _them_.

“I promise.” She nods her head, eyes strong and grip tightening on the drive. “I swear it.”

Voices shout ahead of them, further into the alley. This area has had extensive militia activity. It’s her rescue, and his damnation. A man pounds the pavement with how hard he runs to them, cursing beneath his breath in what sounds like some southeastern drawl.

Morrison let’s go.

“You stupid journalists,” the man yanks Jada up by the collar of her jacket. He’s sure she’d be far more aggressive about it if the circumstances were different. “Up! Get up! We gotta go.”

Nevermind that they aren’t the ones who were late.

“Aaron,” she begs. She knows what he has to do. To keep them safe. To save the world. The rebel leans to grab him to, but he shakes his head. The man doesn’t know them, just what they do. They don’t know him either, just his reputation. He must go, too. “Please.”

She’s young and an idealist. She’ll be the future, if she lives.

If they all live.

“Go.”

The rebel drags Jada along with him, to a small group of his own people protecting a larger group: the elderly, sick, and children. Families of the resistance.

Collateral and slaughter.

Soldiers’ voices yell from the streets.

He watches the group of locals and volunteers as they retreat to the alleys, disappearing to safety. And, as he watches, he feels his chest burn: in anger, some fear, and _hope._

They cannot give up hope, he tells himself. They cannot _give up_.

_He’d_ never give up.

Resolved, field journalist, war documentarist, and rebel forces instigator Aaron Morrison rises from the ground. For freedom, for justice. For _hope_ :

Time for one last stand.


End file.
